Runaway
by GoddessOfSuffering
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D has been searching for Phoenix for years, but when they finally capture her, they know it was a bad decision. Living in fear of when she will strike back, how will they contain her? And what do the Avengers have to do with anything?
1. Caught

**Hey guys, I was looking through my stories and realised that my writing style is kinda dark. I mean, it's all either angst or death or just evilness in general. I guess that's what I'm good at though, as I can't write a humour fic to save my life.**

**So, here's another depressing story! Enjoy! :D**

* * *

My mother thinks I'm dead.

Obviously I'm _not_ dead, but it's safer for her to think so.

At least twice a week, I see my Wanted poster pinned up on the notice boards scattered throughout New Mexico. It looks out of place up there. Most of the posters up there are advertisements of upcoming events, decorated in neon colours. There's also the occasional Lost Pet poster, complete with photos and phone numbers.

Then there's my criminal report. It stands out like a rain cloud on a rainbow in it's black-and-white glory:

**WANTED**

FILE NO: 765319-7618

"PHOENIX"

WANTED FOR MURDER, ASSAULT,

ARSON, THEFT, AND DESTRUCTION

OF GOVERNMENT PROPERTY.

$300,000 FOR INFORMATION LEADING

TO ARREST.

They always have a different photo running alongside the report. One time it was a girl with glasses and a head full of thick brown curls. Another time it was a girl with clear blue eyes and a ginger pixie-cut. Sometimes I'm black, sometimes white, sometimes olive or brown or yellow or red or whatever the hell else they can think of.

In other words, the government have no idea what I look like. They don't seem to know much of _anything_ about me, except that I'm a young female and that when they run my fingerprints they don't find a match in their databases. That's why they hate me, why I'm not the most _dangerous_ criminal in the state, but the most _wanted_. I make them look bad.

It's early evening, but it's already pitch-black outside, and the street lamps' reflections are visible in the puddles on the road. I sit on a crumbling window ledge two stories up, hidden from view behind a large tree. This used to be an apartment complex, but it's fallen into disrepair. Broken glass and scraps of cardboard and rusted metals litter the floor of this room, and the paper is peeling from every wall. In one corner, an old battered radio lies abandoned on the ground. I wonder who used to live here - not that it really matters to me.

My black hair, which I cut to chin-length with my own knife, is as usual tied up and tucked inside of my hood. My eyes, hidden in the shadow of the hood, are fixed on the window of the small terraced house across the street. My hands fiddle with the bracelet around my left wrist.

Through the open window I can see a small bedroom, lit only by a bedside lamp. The window is unobstructed by blinds or curtains, so I have a perfect view of the room. The walls are plain and white, and the only visible furniture is the single wooden bed pressed up against the far wall. In the bed lies a dark-haired woman, no older than forty, soundly sleeping.

The scene would not look out of place, were it not for the hovering doctor and the tubes sticking out of the woman's body.

_She looks even worse than the last time I saw her._ I think grimly, not moving from my perch on the opposite building. The woman's skin is sickly pale, with large purple shadows under her eyes that were not from lack of sleep. Her body seems weak and frail, her cheekbones prominent and threatening to poke through her worn skin. Her dark hair, the same as my own, lay spread out around her face like a fan on the white pillows. _Mom_.

Next to the bed stands a frantic looking blonde woman, talking animatedly to a worried looking doctor and making wild hand gestures. I strain my ears to hear the conversation over the roar of the winds and the streets below, but I can only make out certain fragments.

"-must be something... -can do"

"-medicine... -low supplies... -shipment"

"-can pay... -serious illness"

"-at least... -week... -too late"

"-die?"

"-yes... -nothing that... -can do"

It's not hard to piece together what they're saying. She needs medicine, but the hospitals don't have any supplies. Without it, my mother will die. She has less than a week. There is nothing they can do. A normal person would have broke down crying then and there, maybe yelled at the skies or smashed something. But I just watch silently and numbly as the doctor leaves the house and walks down the street, leaving the blonde woman, her sister, to fall to the floor and weep at my mothers bedside. I sit there for hours, and only as the sun finally breaches the horizon do I go back into the abandoned apartment building and grab my bag from the floor, the darkness hiding the tears still glistening in my eyes. My mother is going to die, and I do not want to be in town when it happens.

I travel from dawn till dusk, eating food out of my bag so I don't have to stop to eat. I move with the skill of one who has lived on the streets for years, covering more ground than even I realised. Sometimes I hitchhike, sometimes I walk, sometimes I run. I reach the outskirts of New York before two weeks pass. The city is familiar to me, I have traveled here many times in the past to escape the New Mexico police or just for a change of pace. I always returned to New Mexico though, to check on my mother. Not that I'll need to do that ever again.

When I arrive, the sun has gone down and the streets are plunged into darkness. I pull my hood closer around my face and head to the nearest food store. During my journey I had finished all of my stocks, and I intend to get more.

The store is closed, deserted, but no doubt there are security cameras inside and outside. Looking around to make sure I was alone on the street, I casually walk past the store, subtly dropping the wave transmitter onto the pavement in front of the doorway. This technology is not common in this world, so they sure won't be watching for it. I doubt they even know it exists.

I wait in an alleyway to the side of the shop until a few civilians have made their way past the store, before checking the coast was yet again clear and activating the transmitter. The frequencies immediately disable all of the cameras both outside and inside the store, so I walk back over to the entryway and stuff the transmitter back in my pocket. Pulling on a pair of black gloves, I pick the lock to the store with a paper clip and a piece of wire. It takes a while, but it finally opens, and I quietly slip inside.

Inside the store is pitch-black darkness, but I can see perfectly well. After checking the cameras were still disabled, I stuff as many cans of food into my backpack that will fit. I then replace them with the empty cans that I had finished on my journey, making sure to only take what I can replace, so nothing would be immediately missed. As soon as I'm done, I walk right back out of the store and re-lock it with the paper clip and wire.

The moon is casting a bright white sheen over everything, so I duck into the nearest alleyway where it's dark and open a can of food. I'm only halfway through when I hear the footsteps.

* * *

At first they sound quite far away, a few of them, probably a group of men judging by the heaviness of their steps. I stop eating but don't move, listening warily. As the footsteps come closer to me, I pack away my stuff and get ready to run if I have to. My hands grip the knife at my waist as I flatten myself out against the brick wall. As they get closer, I hear voices.

"You sure she came this way?"

"You sure it was her?"

"Tracked her from New Mexico. She broke into that shop."

"She's in the alleyway."

I smirk and run my finger down the blade of my knife. _A group of muggers, or rapists, or kidnappers or something. They think I'm easy pickings, a young defenceless homeless girl. Ha. _I prepare myself to fight them, when another of the men speaks and I freeze where I stand.

"Director, we finally got her."

_Government_.

Shaking myself clear of the paralysing fear that had frozen me in place, I spin on my heel and bolt in the opposite direction. I hear their footsteps perusing me, and their yells as they call for more agents. I race down the alley, and when I realise that it dead-ends at a brick wall, it only takes me a second to think of a solution. Getting a running start, I leap onto one of the dumpsters, and use the extra height to grab an old pipe and climb up it. I end up on the roof, and start running as fast as I can along the rows of houses and stores, leaping the small distances between roofs. I glance downwards and see agents following me on the ground, and some even scaling the buildings to get to me. I put on an extra burst of speed as I search frantically for the building I'm looking for.

_Where is it? Where the hell is it? _My hair is sticking to the back of my neck with sweat and I'm panting as I near the end of the row of roofs. _There_. Not even bothering to hesitate, I jump from the roof to the ground, landing in a crouch and rolling a few times to absorb the impact. My left ankle stings, but it's not broken, so I ignore the pain and sprint across the streets and along another alleyway until I reach the building I wanted. I shove the door open and bolt through the rooms and down the stairs until I get to the basement, where I yank open the hidden door and barrel through it. I push it closed behind me, sighing when I hear it lock.

Looking in front of me, I'm in an underground tunnel system. I run down the tunnel, making sure not to touch the walls, until I come to where the tunnel meets with others in the system. They all have a shallow layer of grimy water covering the floor, so I run down a random tunnel and stick to the water, so my scent will be untraceable. I make plenty of turns where I can, and don't slow down until I'm gasping for breath and physically can't run anymore. I kneel down in the water and take a break.

_How did government find me? They must've followed me from my mother's house and saw me break into that shop. How do they know what I look like?_ As my heart rate finally becomes slow enough to be normal, my mind clears. _They don't know what I look like, they just tracked me from my mother's house, knowing I was Phoenix, and waited for a place to ambush me. They don't know who I am._

My relief is short lived, however, as I hear perusing footsteps again. Groaning, I stand up and begin running again. It isn't long before the footsteps become too close for comfort. I know there is no hot breath down my neck, but the echoing footsteps are real and terrifying. I suddenly hear a loud and piercing _bang_ that rattles my eardrums, and I'm not surprised a second later when a shooting pain consumes my left arm. The bullet plants itself inches below my shoulder, inside the muscle. I scream in pain but keep running, determined not to get caught.

The agents aren't far behind me, I can see their reflections in the layers of water that line the walls of the pipes. They all carry guns. Cradling my left arm to my chest, I put on an extra burst of speed as I reach the end of the tunnels. I haul myself up the ladder one-handed and out onto the streets above. I practically dive into the crowds, trying to lose myself in many turns and hundreds of people. I end up on an old backstreet lined with old markets selling fruit and plants. Since it's still dark, there are no people out. Leaning against the brick wall, I open up my backpack and get out the wire. I pull off my hoodie, careful not to jostle my arm too much, and use the wire to make a small hook. I carefully use it to dig the bullet out of my arm, biting back a scream and groaning in pain instead. Once the bullet is out, I grab some bandages out of my bag and wrap them tightly around my arm. It hurts a lot, but the tightness should slow the blood loss, which is only a good thing.

I pack up my stuff again and start walking in the direction of the Main Street, when a helicopter flies up above my head and shines it's spotlight down on me. I look up, cursing. It's a government helicopter. In the dimness I think I see the letters S.H.I.E.L.D painted on the side of the copter, but I can't be sure. I duck into the nearest building, away from the light.

But what I had ducked into was not a building, it was in fact an archway. And on the other side of said archway are at least twenty agents, all armed with guns.

I just stand there for a minute, eyeing all of the weapons trained on me. My arm still stings, but it's healing, and my breathing is laboured. Slowly and deliberately, I raise my hands behind my head, making it look like I surrender. Then, quick as a strike of a viper, I grab the hilts of the two katana blades strapped to my back and bring them forwards. A shower of bullets rain in my direction, but I deflect them all by swinging my swords so fast they become a blur. I dart around to avoid the huge clusters of bullets, narrowly missing getting hit. _I'm not going to make it._ All of the bullets ricochet, somehow none of them hitting me, though the constant movement of my arm causes me to grit my teeth. When the bullets finally stop coming, whether because they run out or have realised none are hitting me, I pause only for a second to wonder how I'm still alive, and how my arm will hold up before I switch from defence to offence and throw myself into the fight.

It's a whirling blur of blades and arms and legs, but within five minutes all of the agents are dead. My blood-slicked katanas wiped clean on the clothes of one of the agents, and strapped back onto my back, I begin stumblimg down the dark street.

In the fight I gained a deep cut running down my right side, and I strained my injured arm even more. My foot was probably fractured from when I fell off that roof, and I had a pounding headache from both blood loss and adrenaline. Pushing all of the pain back, with one hand clutching hard at my side, I race down the dark street with all I have until I get to a chain-link fence. I look around desperately, but there's no way around it. I have to climb over it. I can barely hear the echoing footsteps over the pounding in my skull, but I know the agents are close behind me. Gritting my teeth, I use my good arm and foot to get a good hold on the fence, and begin climbing.

I can feel blood gushing from my side, which has no chance to heal quickly anymore, and my left arm is painful to move. I can barely move my left foot. It takes me ten times longer than it should to get leverage and haul myself up. Somehow I make it to the top of the fence, but I know I won't make it back down the other side as a wave of dizziness sets in and I will myself not to pass out. I let go of the fence and fall to the floor in a heap, rolling again. I cry out from pain, and immediately curse myself. _Now they know where I am._

My vision is going dark around the edges, and I'm lightheaded and dizzy. I can't move from my position on the floor. I'm losing way too much blood from my side, and my foot is useless. My arm is going numb from both the tightness of the bandage and the blood loss there. I'm barely conscious, barely alive, but I can still hear the footsteps -closer now- over the ringing in my ears.

I glance to my side, where one of my daggers had fallen to the ground next to me. I stretch my good arm out and grab it.

The voices and footsteps were almost at the fence, but I hear them as if from a distance.

Rolling onto my back, knife still in my hand, I stare up at the blue sky between the roofs of two buildings.

_It would be so easy._

I hear the rattling as the agents climb the fence.

_I always swore that I would never let myself be taken by them. That I would do anything to prevent it from happening._

The agents are on my side of the fence, surrounding me.

With every last ounce of strength I own, I lift the knife.

_This is a better fate._

And drive it down into my heart.

* * *

**Like I said. Angst, death or evilness. This one kind of has all three.**

**I have no idea where this stuff comes from.**

**So, in the words of Slyfoxhound: HOMIES UNITE! :D **


	2. Prisoner

**So I decided to continue this story, but it will still be short. Probably only a few more chapters. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

_**A year later...**_

The room was dark and circular, lit only by the four spotlights coming from each corner of the ceiling and all shining directly at the centre of the room, forming a large circle of light on the stone floors. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, the stone floors and walls making the room eerily cold and each breath echo like a sigh. The room was mostly empty, other than the four chains that were sunk into the floor in each corner of the room, their metal reflecting in the spotlights. The chains all met in the centre of the room, in the circle of light, where a figure crouched, head bent. Two chains attached to each wrist, with a spiked choker around their neck that was attached to a shorter chain that was sunk deep into the floor. The figure was one one knee, with the other foot planted firmly on the ground. It's hands were flat on the ground in front of its knees, and it's head was bowed so it's hair covered it's face from the harsh brightness of the lights. Thick corded muscles laced it's bare arms, it's torso covered by a torn black T-Shirt with a slice down the right side, revealing bloody skin. It's muscled legs were covered by dark jeans, ripped and frayed and caked with dirt and blood. It's hair was short and black, sticking to its hair with sweat and blood, covering its face completely. It was completely motionless, save for the occasional rise and fall of its chest, but seemed unnaturally tense, as if it was prepared to spring at any moment. Despite the thick muscle and the blood and the darkness, the figure was unmistakably female.

The deep cut down her right side was still oozing blood, which trickled down her skin and down her T-Shirt and into a pool on the floor. She was kneeling on her left knee, leaving her left foot slightly above the ground, so it was probably injured. Her left arm was bandaged in a blood covered gauze, fresh blood trickling out from the sides and running down her arms. The skin that was visible was sickly pale, glowing white in the harsh lighting. Her hair was as dark as night, strands stuck together with blood and sweat, but still formed an impenetrable curtain that shielded her face. She looked like a panther, locked up but waiting to spring at anyone who came too close, lethal in her grace and precision. The thick cuffs that lined her wrists had blood trickling from under them, the skin raw and tattered from her resistance. The cuff that lined her neck was laced with a dozen lethal spikes, thick enough to limit the movement of her head, thin enough to rub against her collarbones, which were now also raw and bleeding. Despite her obvious injuries and blood loss, her breathing was even and deep, and her limbs did not tremble. Even chained up like this, she was intimidating, her dangerousness made clear by the precautions taken in containing her. The guards that stood by the reinforced doors looked wary of the figure, reaching reflexively for their guns every time she so much as moved an inch. They all knew what she was capable of, and wouldn't underestimate her, even weighed down by chains as she was now.

It had been a year since she was captured, and she was not always so calm. At first she would tear at her chains, yelling and cursing, rubbing her wrists raw. They sent agents in to shut her up. They made sure her side wound did not heal, by continuously tearing it open or cutting it more. They twisted her injured ankle and stood on it, crushed it until all the bones gave up. They tore at her shoulder wound, ripping muscles and nerves and shattering the bone. At first she screamed, tried to fight, but soon she withdrew. She remained blank, expressionless and silent, not even wincing as the agents did these things, the only sign of the pain she felt were the silent tears streaking down her face. They mixed in with the dirt and blood and sweat that coated all of her skin, making her almost unrecognisable. They all thought they had broken her, that she was insane, but their superiors knew better. Her wounds should have healed months ago, but they were worse now than they had been in the beginning, infected and swollen and gushing blood. They always made sure she would stay conscious, never allowing her the freedom of fainting or dying, forcing her to continue on in pain and weakness. They bound her wounds to stem the blood flow when she was near passing out, and refrained from punishing her when she was weak. They knew she was more durable and healed faster than a human. They hurt her just enough to keep her weak, not enough to kill her.

She crouched, not moving, in the centre of the room, not fighting or struggling but accepting what they did to her. There was always a flicker in her eyes that said that she would make them all pay in blood when their time came, that she was not broken, that she was would not cry out, that she would eventually strike and that when she did it would destroy everything and everyone who had ever hurt her. Everyone believed that she would do this, that she would eventually destroy them. She certainly had the ability. The neck collar was fitted around that time.

They did heal one of her wounds. Somewhere along the line when she was captured, she sustained an almost fatal knife wound to her chest. They wanted her alive, so they sent their best medics to treat it. They made her stay conscious through the whole thing, having her skin cut open and her insides played around with. They gave her no painkillers, only a gag to muffle her screams. They stitched the wound up and sent her to her cell, ignoring her tears and screams of pain and anger. She lived, but only barely.

Her cell was at the very bottom of one of the government bases, miles underground. It was guarded by thousands of their best soldiers, patrolled 24/7. There was meters of reinforced steel between the prisoner and the rooms surrounding her cell, all of which were constantly filled with soldiers constantly on watch for a sign of escape. All soldiers were armed with guns that could accurately shoot a target from miles away, and all of the doors in the base were opened by the fingerprint of a soldier. Any foreign prints would result in an immediate alarm going off throughout the entire place and a total lockdown. It was the most secure of the most secure cells in the world, and even that, they suspected, wouldn't be enough to stop her when she strikes. Her skills and power were unmatched, she was the world's most famous and most dangerous criminal.

She was the Phoenix.

Some argued why they had captured her at all. When she was loose on the streets, she caused disturbances in the civilian society and overall annoyed the whole country. Her rage was rarely provoked, and when it was it was only a small amount of the damage that could have been caused. Capturing her here would only fuel her rage and bring it down on everyone's heads. They tortured her in an attempt to weaken her, to keep her in a state of half-awareness where she couldn't do too much damage. It didn't work, she always remained alert no matter what they did, but they were afraid to stop in case she regained full strength and made her strike. She would destroy them all, they knew, and at least when she was free they weren't all constantly living in fear of when she would strike.

And strike she would. They didn't know when it would be, but they knew it would be when they least expected it, in the way they least expected it.

If they freed her now, she would reign destruction on everything. If they tortured her, it would fuel her rage. If they left her, she would regain strength. If they tried to kill her, it would force her to strike sooner and harder.

They had dug themselves a hole, and they had no way out of it. They were trapped in her web of fate, and she knew it. She was the predator and they were the prey, no matter how many chains or collars they put on her. They were waiting for her to strike. As hard as a rhino, as sleek as a viper, as deadly as a lion, as sly as a fox. As unpredictable and reckless as a Phoenix.

But since she had an eternity, she was content to wait a while longer.

_Make them live in fear for a while longer, the greatest kindness I could give them would be to strike quickly and put them out of their misery. I'll drag it out until they either go insane with fear or let their guard down._

Then she would unleash Hell On Earth. Quite literally, considering who she was.

S.H.I.E.L.D knew she was more than human, but they had no idea just what she was or what she was capable of.

Soon they would see her true power, the wrath of the _daemon bellator.  
_

She would make sure there were no survivors.

* * *

**This is really weird.**

**_(Daemon bellator = Latin for demon warrior)_**

**Please review, let me know what you think.**


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